


Dewdrops at Dawn

by cosmicbubble



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, M/M, ignis and Prompto are mentioned, kind of, takes place after the events of the game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 22:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15229422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicbubble/pseuds/cosmicbubble
Summary: A year later, Gladio visits Noctis.





	Dewdrops at Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all!! Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoy!!

The sun is shimmering, crisp and warm - deceptively radiant and joyful. He’s tried so hard to not allow himself to spiral so far downward, to try to find the small specks of happiness, with the embrace of the sun rising again, but he just can’t.

 

This isn’t his sun - Gladio’s own light, own shimmering hope, has long since vanished. The warmth of sunlight doesn’t kiss his cheeks, doesn’t cradle his spirit, doesn’t bring that sense of belonging and solace to his entire being. Nothing can compare - nothing truly can, and nothing truly will.

 

_Noctis is whining, “Why can’t you just go easy on me? It’s been a long day!”_

 

_“I mean, I could,” Gladio scoffs, “But what about all of the other people you see? And when you become king, do you think your subjects are going to think, ‘Oh, maybe I should be kind to him because he’s had a long day?’ You’re in for a reality check, princess.”_

 

_The nickname is biting, dripping with a venom Gladio doesn’t anticipate from himself. He watches as Noctis’s shoulder tense, ever so slightly. Gladio’s been training him for years now, watching him grow from a brooding and awkward ten year-old to . . . well, a brooding and awkward eighteen year-old. But there’s a warmth to him, a familiarity, and Gladio isn’t entirely sure why he feels so drawn to the prince._

 

_But calling him princess - certainly not the way to go, whether Noctis yells at him or not. Instead, the prince simply tightens his grip on his training sword and spits out, “Fine. Then don’t ever expect me to go easy on you, either.”_

 

_“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Gladio laughs, “Now, show me what a future king of Lucis can do.”_

 

Gladio tightens his fist and chokes back the smallest laugh. It feels tangy and bitter against his lips, a different taste entirely. He takes in a deep breath, the morning air cooling his lungs. The smell of fresh dew laying upon the grass invades his senses, and he feels the tension slowly begin to leave his shoulders.

 

Dammit, he should have never called Noctis princess, since the nickname seemed to cling to their relationship like glue. Though, perhaps more shockingly, Noctis never seemed to complain.

 

Then again, he didn’t complain much about anything - not about the amount of work he had to do, not about the lack of time he spent with his father, not about their journey together, not about . . .

 

Gladio pulls himself from his thoughts as the feeling of his phone rumbling in his pocket disturbs him. He reaches in, checking the screen for just a moment - he bites the inside of his cheek, masking a sigh - before he picks up.

 

“What’s going on, Prompto?” His body aches, though he wonders if it’s all a trick in his mind. He’s in perfect health. The weather isn’t even enough for his scars to ache, but his eyes feel heavy and his voice feels detached, as though he’s listening to someone else with an eerily-similar timbre speak into the phone.

 

Prompto replies hesitantly, “Hey, Ignis was looking for you.”

 

“If he’s looking for me, he can call me himself.” He pulls his phone away and moves to end the call, but he can hear Prompto loudly yelling, “Wait, wait!”

 

So he waits.

 

Prompto’s voice is hesitant again, skittish as he says, “Ignis is just worried about you. We, we all are. We know what today is.”

 

“I’ll be fine.”

 

The look the blond gives him is hesitant, eyes skirting across and around, taking a look at his tense jaws and shoulders before he gives a shaky nod. Gladio doesn’t expect Prompto to say anything, and he doesn’t, but he can hear his words all the same.

 

He repeats himself, “I’ll be fine, Prompto. I’ll be back by the evening, and then we can work on the next steps to rebuilding.”

 

“Sure,” Prompto replies. He walks off then, footsteps fading as he continues to look back at his dear friend. Each time, Gladio gives him a small smile and a short wave - the more relaxed he appears, the more Prompto will be able to let him have this day in peace.

 

It’s not a happy day for any of them - there’s still much to celebrate, of course, because Insomnia has come such a ways in a short amount of time. Roads are being rebuilt, people are returning to the crown city, their military has been bolstered and should reach its former glory soon, ready to defend the city and crown they adore so much.

 

But it feels so empty - so hollow, as though everything has been carved out from his being. He looks around him, seeing people going about their day amongst the faded rubble, but it’s like he’s in his own universe.

 

_“What are your plans after all this? After, you know, we go back to Insomnia?”_

 

_The evening sky bares down on Gladio, and sitting next to him is Noctis. He stares into the fire before them, and it crackles and glows with a certainty Gladio wishes he could find in the world, in the ever-fading dawn. Noctis has his hands together, and he keeps fumbling with them, moving them apart to place a hand on his knee only to bring them back together again. His breaths are steady in that they’re uneven, moving with an uncertainty that Gladio can’t describe. Noctis doesn’t look at him. His gaze remains on the fire._

 

_Gladio laughs, “You think I have some cool answer, like ‘Maybe I’ll go on an epic journey to discover myself and gain more muscles? Kid, I’m your shield. I go wherever you go. That’s my job, and it always will be.”_

 

_“Yeah, but,” Noctis hesitates, shifting in the camping chair as he says, “Is that something you even want to do? Protecting me, I mean.”_

 

_There’s a rustling close by, but Gladio doesn’t flinch. He knows it’s Prompto, moving back and forth as he sleeps. He pays it no mind._

 

_Instead, he maintains his gaze, looking at Noctis. Noctis doesn’t return the look. He remains staring at the fire, picking up a stick to toss into the hungry flames._

 

_Gladio asks, “What brought this on? This isn’t something you usually think about.”_

 

_“It’s always been there,” Noctis replies quietly, “I just . . . you’ve already given up so much for me, you know? You don’t get to do a lot on your own because you have to protect me,  and your dad . . . I just, I don’t want the same thing to happen to you.”_

 

_Gladio sighs, “It was his job, Noctis, and he loved being able to protect the king. I like my job, and I won’t hesitate to protect you.” He finishes his point by standing up, stretching his sore muscles. They spent the majority of the day rushing through hills and crevices, trying to find the next location of the Royal Arms._

 

_“Look, don’t worry,” Gladio laughs, “You’re going to be fine and I’m not going to let myself die so easily. You’d be a mess without me, you just won’t admit it.”_

 

_Noctis laughs, but it sounds insincere - choked in his throat as he releases it. But his smile is genuine all the same. He stands up and walks over to Gladio, footsteps echoing in the safe haven._

 

_“Thanks,” he says quietly, giving his Shield a quick nod before walking into the tent to sleep. Everything returns to silence again, and Gladio is left with his own thoughts - the thoughts of what might happen, of having to live of a life as a failed shield, without his charge in the world._

 

_It’s not a world he wants to think about._

 

When he arrives, he visits his father first. The sea breeze tickles his cheeks and as he moves, he can feel the sand beneath his feet give way to him, as though bowing as he proceeds to his destination. He’s holding two bouquets of flowers in his hand, and a petal comes off from one of them, joining the breeze as it moves through the area.

 

It’s not the best place for a memorial, but it’s certainly the prettiest. It had been Ignis’s idea, and he fought with the newly-appointed council to guarantee a gravesite for the lives lost in this senseless war. They were reluctant - it would cost money, money better spent serving the people as they rebuilt their lives - but when Ignis mentioned Noctis’s name, they relented. Gladio is certain more happened in that meeting, but Ignis did not share the details. Perhaps that’s for the best.

 

He arrives to a plaque buried in the ground, and carved into the stone is a name he’s all too familiar with - _Clarus_ _Amicitia._ It’s simple, which was all Iris’s idea. Gladio just agreed to it.

 

There’s dirt and sand marring the gravestone, and so Gladio reaches over and brushes it away, leaving the marble as clear as possible. He ignores his trembling hand.

 

“Hey, pops,” he laughs, “I guess I ought to say hello. I know you’re probably happier than it seems right now, but . . . you’d be really happy to see how insomnia has grown. And me, I guess.”

 

He’s in his thirties now - it’s been a full decade since he last saw his father. There’s more scars littering his body, his hair has grown longer, and he feels just a little bit emptier.

 

“I guess it’s good you went when you did,” Gladio says quietly, “But I wish I could’ve asked you about this. About what to do when, uh, your king leaves the world without you.”

 

He hears seagulls humming, and when he looks out towards the ocean,  he sees a flock of them flying just above the waves. The water, calm and blue, seems almost inviting, but he leaves it alone. Gladio just stares, as though the scenery could change if he concentrates enough.

 

Gladio clears his throat. He wipes his hand across his father’s monument one last time before he places one of the bouquets of flowers upon it - a mixture of gladiolus and iris flowers, courtesy of his sister. She would visit later. Gladio needed to be able to visit on his own.

 

He takes a deep breath before standing up again and walking away, listening to the waves crash against the shore as he says one more goodbye to his father.

 

Gladio lets out a breath he doesn’t realize he had been holding in, and then his phone rings.

 

He takes it from his pocket and, after a quick glance at the screen, picks up. “What’s going on, Ignis?”

 

 _“Just checking in, I suppose,”_ Ignis sighs, _“It’s rather quiet here today. What time do you think you will be back?”_

 

Gladio replies, “Don’t know. You’ll know when I get back, though. Iggy, really. I’ll be fine.”

 

He hangs up then, even though he can hear Ignis trying to talk to him. Before his friend can try to call him again, he shuts his phone off. The grip on his phone is tight as he pushes it back into his pocket.

 

His breaths are heavy and his shoulders feel tense - why did he pick up the phone? His stomach churns uncomfortably, but he pushes the feelings down as best he can. Today, he just wants to have as much time as he needs here.

 

And his next destination is a difficult one - not in travel, because it’s simply atop the hill - but he has so much to say, and not a single word feels right to leave his lips.

 

_“What the hell were you thinking?!”_

 

_He’s sweating and his breath comes in short, angry bursts. Gladio feels the frustration running through his veins, and his hands are balled into tight fists. Before him, Ignis holds tightly onto Noctis’s ankle, which causes the latter to let out a shaky breath. Prompto stands next to them, panic rushing through his features._

 

_“It’s not a big deal,” Noctis says, voice strained. Ignis presses a potion between his hands, breaking it against Noctis’s ankle. Even with the help of magic, Gladio watches as the puncture wounds only shrink in size - they’re not fading and with every moment that Gladio spends staring at them, the anger and frustration only boils inside of him._

 

_He’s nearly yelling as he says, “Not a big deal? Noct, you could have lost your leg. You don’t need to push me out of the way or save me from an enemy. I can handle myself.”_

 

_“I know you can,” Noctis replies, and he ends his sentence with a wince as Ignis applies pressure on the remaining wounds. The sound makes Gladio’s heart ache, and he storms away from the haven, feet stomping against the ground as his companions fade from view._

 

_It was a simple battle - sahagins had come across their path and instead of veering in another direction, Prompto had fired his gun at them. Simple enough; it felt like a simple practice for Gladio. It was supposed to be, anyway._

 

_The monsters grew too overwhelming and Gladio will admit, he got carried away. He focused so much on the enemies in front of him, that he didn’t see one sneaking up behind him._

 

_Noctis had. Noctis, his prince, his charge, had jumped to cover Gladio’s back. He had given a kick to one sahagin, only for another to clamp its jaws down onto Noctis’s ankle. He had screamed. Gladio had torn his way through monster after monster, cleaving through them as anger surged through his entire being._

 

_He needed time to himself after that - none of them could truly understand. He had almost lost Noctis today. When he kicks up the dirt as he stomps through the woods around him, it only makes him feel slightly better. But every time he closes his eyes, he sees the sahagin clench down on Noctis’s ankle - sees the blood pooling from his wound, sees his prince’s life flash before his eyes._

 

_When he returns to camp that evening, Noctis is awake. Gladio rolls his eyes._

 

_“You know,” Noctis mumbles, “I wasn’t going to die. Not from something like that.”_

 

_Gladio snorts, “You think that. But you could’ve died.”_

 

_“I don’t,” Noctis says, confusion blemishing his features, furrowing his eyebrows and causing his eyes to direct their gaze to the ground. He opens his mouth, but no words come through for a moment, until he finishes with, “I don’t understand.”_

 

_There’s silence for a moment between the two of them, before Gladio says, “I could have lost you.”_

 

_“But you didn’t.”_

 

_“That’s not the point,” Gladio snaps, and now words come tumbling through the silence like a whirlwind, “I’m your Shield. I’m supposed to protect you and yet, you got hurt. You could have died. And then what would I have done?”_

 

_Noctis stays quiet. Gladio does too._

 

_Gladio continues, “If you died and I kept living on, I don’t know what I would do. I don’t know what I’d do without you here.”_

 

_Noctis moves to sit closer to Gladio, leaning against him, head resting against broad shoulder. Gladio’s heart is racing for so many reasons - he could have lost his prince, his life was turned upside down for the smallest moment, Noctis is here with him right now._

 

_And even though his heart doesn’t stop its rapid heartbeat, even after Noctis has fallen asleep and Gladio carried him to the tent. Even after all is calm, Gladio feels like everything is moving too fast._

 

_He makes a promise then - he’s going to keep Noctis safe. He wants to spend a lifetime by his side, and in order to do that, Noctis has to live. He just has to._

 

“Hey,” Gladio says, and his throat feels parched and scratchy. It’s not a long walk from his previous destination, but now he’s come to another world, it seems.

 

There’s a larger stone monument, crafted out of marble with a name delicately carved into the main area of the slate. Gladio reads it once, twice, three times and though he knows nothing is going to change, a small part of himself is disappointed that it doesn’t change.

 

_King Noctis Lucis Caelum._

 

His breath catches in his throat, and the sylleblossoms clasped tightly in his hand tumble out, falling in front of his king - in front of his grave, his memorial.

 

“It’s, uh,” Gladio takes a breath, “It’s been a year. Since you brought the light back. A lot of people are really happy, even if they don’t admit it.”

 

There’s silence. Gladio hears waves crashing not too far away, and birds chirping again. The sun is high in the sky, bearing down on his skin and Gladio can’t find it in himself to care.

 

He takes a breath, “They’re all happy, but I’m not. I, well, my sun is gone. You’re not here with me, I can’t call you princess anymore. I can’t worry . . . well, I guess I do anyway. Ignis always makes me worry about things.” He laughs, but of course, he doesn’t hear anything else. He doesn’t hear a laugh alongside his own.

 

“I miss you,” Gladio says, “I miss you so much.” There’s more words stuck in there, but he can’t seem to let them out. He can’t, not when Noctis isn’t here to listen to them - isn’t here to respond to them. Instead, he keeps those words buried deep down, and takes a seat in front of Noctis’s grave.

 

The sun sets, and Gladio stays seated.

 

////

 

He returns early in the morning, and Ignis is livid, but he doesn’t say anything. Prompto, the usual chatterbox, somehow maintains quiet as well. Gladio doesn’t say anything, either.

 

But he keeps moving on - one foot in front of the other. He thinks back to the early hours of the morning, when dewdrops collected on the grass not far from the beach, not far from the memorial. He remembers how he had taken a deep breath, brushing the dirt and sand from Noctis’s memorial as well - it’s all he feels like he can do.

 

And before he left, before he made the decision to return to the Citadel, the dawn rose again.

 

Gladio mumbles, “I’ll make sure to tell you everything when I see you. Just wait patiently.”

 

The sun felt warm again - for the first time in so long, and Gladio had known what it meant.

 


End file.
